


to the end of the world

by lilabut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was supposed to be in Winterfell the week before Christmas. But by the time the new year has started, Jon is standing knee-deep in the warm waters of Dorne, kissing the girl he picked up on the roads of Mole's Town, and he still does not know if it was the best or worst decision of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> I never even wanted to write fic for these two, but I guess there was no point in resisting. For the last week, I've been working on a different AU fic for them, but I needed a break and then this happened. 
> 
> Pure road trip fluff without any broken hearts and lethal arrows.

**t o   t h e   e n d   o f   t h e   w o r l d**

 

****

 

Jon can still see the heavy gates of Castle Black in his rear view mirror, and he already dreads his decision to spend the holidays back at Winterfell. Since his father's death, he has only been home once, and the memory still freezes the blood in his veins.

 

It is a three day journey down the King's Road – or a nightmare, as Jon came to think of it. The heater in his car is broken, the seats reeking of smoke ever since Pyp had borrowed the car for a trip to Eastwatch, and all the motels along the road would be cramped this time of the year.

 

.  .

 

He sees her just outside of Mole's Town, walking by the side of the road with her red hair a stark contrast to the white snow, and a large bag slung over her shoulders.

 

Part of him wants to keep going, but it is freezing even inside the car, and there would be no town or inn for at least another three hours ahead. So, muttering a curse under his breath, he pulls over and slows down the car, letting down his window.

 

_Where are you off to?_

 

 _South_. She has to speak up over the howling of the wind and the stuttering of his car's engine, her face almost hidden by the scarf she had wrapped around herself.

 

Given how far north they are, her answer makes Jon chuckle. _I can take you as far as Winterfell._

 

.  .

 

Her name is Ygritte, and the fact that he is Eddard Stark's son does not seem to impress her at all - that is a first and it only makes her more fascinating.

 

She talks a lot – calls him a lot of names (mostly _crow_ like all the locals called the students of Castle Black) but after the first few times, Jon finds that he does not really mind – but never much about herself. Her voice is husky, and the accent tells him she's from somewhere even further north than Castle Black. Not a lot of people live up there, where it's always cold and bleak. At least not a lot of people anyone down South seem to care about. Jon knows there are some ugly politics involved, but he has enough on his mind already to worry about that, too.

 

_Where exactly do you want to go?_

 

_Just South. Away from here._

 

He can not help but think that she is running from something or someone, but it's not really any of his business, so he keeps his eyes on the road and listens to her ramblings instead.

 

.  .

 

The first night, they find a shady looking motel just off the King's Road. Ygritte chuckles when they get out of his car. _Well, if you're not a highway killer wanting to take me head off, some other psycho is probably living here._

 

They get rooms next to one another, and when Jon tells her goodnight, she puts her hand on his arm and mutters _thank you_. Her touch burns through his shirt and he lays awake for a long time that night.

 

.  .

 

Her hair flutters in the harsh wind, snowflakes dancing through the car, and Jon tells her for the fifth time to shut the window, but she just continues laughing. He has noticed that her teeth are slightly crooked, but when she smiles as broadly as she does now, it does not matter.

 

.  .

 

 _Have you ever been South?_ She sounds curious, playing with the buttons of the broken radio.

 

He watches her from the corner of his eyes, pale cheeks scattered with freckles. _My stepmother is from Riverrun, we went there a few times when we were kids._

 

 _You've never been down to King's Landing?_ The look she throws him is a surprised one. He only shakes his head.

 

 _My sister Sansa lives there now._ For a long time, they drive on in silence. _How about you? Ever been down South?_

 

Ygritte shakes her head, a bitter smile curling her pink lips. _This is the furthest south I've ever been._ It somehow makes Jon feel special.

 

.  .

 

When they get closer to Winterfell, a blizzard slows them down, and Jon thinks his fingers might freeze off curled around the steering wheel.

 

The plan had been to drop Ygritte off somewhere at the crossing of the King's Road, but now it seems like a foolish idea. They have not even passed a dozen cars in the last three hours, and he will not just kick her out by the side of the road to freeze to death.

 

Christmas is still a few days away, and so he tells her he'll take her down to Moat Cailin, where it would be a lot milder and she could easily catch a ride with someone else. She grins, and Jon's stomach flips at the sight.

 

.  .

 

An hour after they have passed the crossing that would have taken Jon straight to the warm halls of Winterfell, he has to pull the car over to the side of the road. The snow has become so thick he can barely see the road, and whatever feeling he had left in his fingers has long made room for a terrifying numbness.

 

There's no phone service, and the only food in the car is a bag of potato chips Ygritte has grabbed at the last gas station. They share the meagre dinner, both of their hands trembling from the cold.

 

They fall asleep on the back seat, Ygritte pressed against his front, the warmth of her body seeping through the layers of their clothes.

 

He wakes just as the sun breaks through the clouds, Ygritte's hair tickling his chin, and when she stirs in his arms – when had he wrapped his arms around her? - he blushes fiercely, realizing the effect her warm body so close to his own had on his body. She notices the same.

 

_Can't be the first time you've pressed your bone against a woman's arse._

 

When he only blushes further and scrambles back into the driver's seat, she stills and looks at him intensely. _It is the first time._

 

.  .

 

_I could show you how to do it._

 

_I know how to do it._

 

_You know nothing._

 

.  .

 

By the time they reach Moat Cailin, most of the snow has made room for muddy planes of lifeless fields. He hates the sight, miserable and plain, but Ygritte leans out of the window and takes it all in, and it makes him smile – no matter how much she has teased him over the last two days.

 

She eats most of his pizza that night, and when they walk down the dark corridor of the motel towards their rooms, purple lights flickering nervously, she smiles softly at him. He wants to say goodnight, dreading the morning because it will mean goodbye, but his eyes widen in shock when she kisses him instead.

 

Everything about her is warm and soft and he stumbles into her room with his hands on her breasts and her tongue in his mouth.

 

They don't even make it to the bed before she is undressed, clothes scattered everywhere, and when he kneels down in front of her and presses his lips to that perfect spot between her legs, the words she was about to say crumble on her lips.

 

Above him, she falls apart, and when she intertwines their fingers and guides him inside of her, it knocks the breath right out of him. His hands roam the soft planes of skin, paint across every freckle and scar, and she kisses him softly when it is over, curling into his side.

 

.  .

 

Come morning, Jon grabs a street map as Ygritte loads their trolley with water bottles, granola bars and sun spray, and he thinks this might either be the best or worst decision of his life.

 

.  .

 

They spend Christmas Eve in a traffic jam at the Trident, the windows down, listening to _Last Christmas_ blaring from the car next to them. Ygritte's head is resting on his chest, her fingers drawing patterns on his thigh, and Jon thinks it's the most perfect Christmas he has ever had.

 

The next morning, Ygritte sits naked on their bed in the shabbiest hotel he has ever seen, legs crossed beneath her, unwrapping a bow and arrow key chain he found at a gas station the day before and had wrapped clumsily in a ripped off part of the street map he'd bought – the northern part, empty and vast. She kisses him with the smile still on her lips and drags him under the hot shower with a sparkle in her eyes.

 

.  .

 

He talks to Arya on the phone, apologizing again for missing Christmas, promising her the best present in the world. She giggles on the other end of the line, and Jon feels less guilty about skipping his visit.

 

.  .

 

They walk down the busy streets of King's Landing with their hands folded together. He buys a disposable camera for her, but ends up being the one to take all the pictures. Pictures of Ygritte with pistachio ice cream on her nose, pictures of Ygritte's hair dancing in the wind as they watch the sun setting over Blackwater Bay. Pictures of the lace curtains of their room casting delicate shadows on her naked back.

 

She talks him into taking a tour through the Red Keep, runs her fingers across the ancient stones, and giggles at the old man leading the tour. For that, they are nearly kicked out, but Jon silences her with a kiss, and she walks with her shoulder against his side for the rest of the afternoon. The Sept bores her, and he buys her a cupcake on the Street of Flour afterwards as an apology for dragging her in there. They share the frosting, and when Jon pushes her against a brick wall in an abandoned alley way later that day, her mouth still tastes like lemon.

 

On New Year's Eve, they watch the fire works lightening up the sky, thousands of people cheering around them. The colours reflect on the black surface of the water like jewels.

 

Ygritte kisses him softly, fingers buried in his hair, and for the first time, Jon is afraid of the future. Of losing all this.

 

.  .

 

Two days later, they leave King's Landing with a large amount of new clothes - neither of them had even owned clothes for this sort of heat, and it was bound to get even hotter the further south they went - and a finely engraved pocket knife for Arya that Catelyn would hate, but Jon cares as little as Arya would.

 

.  .

 

Around them, the world blooms in all sorts of rich colours. Green grass and pink flower, the sun yellow against the pale blue sky. They sleep in the car most nights now, watching the stars flickering in the sky, and Jon thinks Ygritte's skin shines as softly as the moon when he kisses her.

 

In Highgarden, she pulls him across a busy market, the yellow dress she is wearing fluttering in the wind, and he jokingly calls her _Milady_ until she silences him with her fiery lips.

 

They sit by the river's edge one night, eating peaches so ripe the juices are dripping down their chins, and the sound of Ygritte's laughter is the clearest music he has ever heard. She falls asleep with her head in his lap, red hair dancing in the soft breeze, and as he tucks a wild strand behind her ear, he feels tears pooling in his eyes.

 

.  .

 

In Oldtown, he scribbles a post card to Sam. It is a place he would love, but they are just passing through, and Ygritte is impatient, pushing the speed limit whenever he lets her drive.

 

The bridge of her nose is slightly red, just as her shoulders are, but it only makes her look more alive. Jon wants to ask her where exactly it is they are going – what will happen once they make it to Sunspear. They could not go any further, it was wishful thinking. There would be no ship to take them to Essos. She might have left her old life behind – it was a delicate mission to get her to open up to him, and her whispered words were often lined with sadness – but he has a family, a school he needs to get back to in a few weeks.

 

For now, though, they are driving on through the mountains of Dorne, windows down as sweat covers their foreheads.

 

.  .

 

When they make it to Sunspear, they spend two days in their hotel room, hardly leaving the bed, ordering food and laughing when the cleaning lady finds them half-naked on the balcony.

 

Robb calls him one morning while Ygritte is in the shower, asking where on Earth he is, and Jon finally tells him everything.

 

.  .

 

The sun is unbearably hot, the sand under his feet almost painful to walk on. He watches as Ygritte runs further and further into the crystal clear sea, most of her pale skin exposed and reflecting the sunlight.

 

It is the two of them at the end of the world, nobody else on the beach but them. She calls his name and holds out her hand. Of course he takes it, grabs it tightly as the warm water licks at his feet.

 

The waves break in a rush against the shore, and soon enough his rolled up trousers are soaked, stained with salt, but Ygritte pulls him in further and further. The smell of sun and salt is heavy in the air, but the taste of Ygritte's lips as she pulls him in for an almost desperate kiss drowns everything else.

 

_I never want to leave this place. Not ever._

 

Later, when their clothes are drying in the sun and their toes playing with the white sand, Jon realizes he is not afraid any more.

 

.  .

 

 _How long does it take to get to Essos from here?_ She sounds genuinely curious as they sit on a bench at the harbour, watching the large ships sailing in the distance, disappearing beyond the horizon.

 

Jon shrugs, kissing her temple. _I don't know._

 

 _You know nothing._ Her laughter sounds even more beautiful under the gleam of the sun.

 

He speaks before he even thinks, the breeze of the sea entangling her hair with his own, a strand caught by his bottom lip. _I know I love you._

 

the end.


End file.
